Page 14 of The Cat Who Loved Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

Elizabeth glanced back at her sister and the young gentleman with fondness. “They suit one another so easily,” she murmured.

Darcy’s gaze followed hers, but his reply was measured. “They do. It is a rare thing to see.”

Elizabeth lifted her head, amusement and curiosity mingling in her eyes. “You say that as though you approve, Mr. Darcy.”

He met her gaze directly. “I do indeed.”

On the bench, Bingley had begun to expound his views on country life with enthusiastic gestures toward the fields, while Jane nodded with gentle patience at every remark.

Elizabeth walked a little farther, voice lowering. “They will see us if you insist on staring so openly.”

Darcy’s mouth quirked, betraying a spark of unguarded humour. “You think I am staring?”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “Am I wrong?”

He hesitated—just long enough to be telling. “No,” he admitted quietly.

Elizabeth looked away to hide her smile, affecting primness. “Then do stop it at once, sir. It is terribly improper.”

Darcy let out a quiet huff of laughter but dutifully turned his eyes to the countryside. He clasped his free hand behind his back to occupy it.

They had reached the little arbour at the edge of the shrubbery, the hush of autumn leaves lending them a rare, private moment. Darcy paused, hand resting lightly on the ironwork trellis, and turned toward her with a thoughtful gravity that made Elizabeth’s breath catch a little.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he began carefully, “forgive me if I am too direct. But I should like to know—what is it you wish for yourself? What are your aims, your dreams?”

Elizabeth blinked at him, caught off guard by the earnestness in his voice. She lowered her gaze to the gravel path, scuffing it lightly before meeting his eyes with candid steadiness.

“I fear you may find my dreams rather prosaic, sir,” she said at last. “I would wish to see my family secure.” Elizabeth took a slow breath, letting her gaze drift over the hedged path before speaking carefully.

“If I am to be honest, Mr. Darcy, my greatest wish is to see my family secure. My father’s estate is entailed away, you see, and once he is gone it will pass to a distant cousin. Everything feels... uncertain.”

Darcy slowed his step, frowning slightly in genuine surprise. “I was not aware of that circumstance, Miss Elizabeth.”

She met his gaze levelly. “Most people are not. It is not something we boast of. But I see little point in pretending otherwise with you. It is the chief concern in my mind when people speak of prospects and hopes.”

Elizabeth did not wish to complain, only to be honest. Concealing the truth felt worse than any embarrassment it might cause.

Mr. Darcy’s expression softened. He inclined his head slowly with grave courtesy. “I appreciate your candour. Truly. And I trust things may yet improve, Miss Elizabeth. Circumstances need not dictate happiness entirely.”

Elizabeth let out a quiet, rueful laugh. “You are kind to say so, sir. I suppose one must hope for that.”

“Other than that, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Oh, sometimes I forget that I am to wish further than that. I would also wish for my sisters to marry well—or at least happily. For my father’s health to remain strong. For my mother’s anxieties to be calmed.”

She paused, watching his face carefully.

“Please, go on, Miss Elizabeth,” he said encouragingly.

“And for myself?” she went on more quietly. “I should like to be of use. To have a home where conversation is welcome, where kindness is practiced without ceremony, and where I might laugh without fear of being thought impertinent.”

Darcy listened without interrupting, his expression softening in a way she would not have credited only a week ago.

“You do not speak of fortune or consequence,” he observed in a low voice.

Elizabeth shook her head slightly, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

“Those have never seemed the surest path to happiness, Mr. Darcy. I have seen too many who possess them and remain dissatisfied. I would rather have a modest home with warmth in it than all the grandest estates if they were ruled by pride, contempt for people, or coldness.”

There was a long, thoughtful silence. Darcy’s eyes held hers, steady and intent.

“Those are... admirable hopes,” he said finally. “And remarkably unselfish.”

Elizabeth lifted a brow at that, her smile deepening.

“I assure you, sir, I have no saintly aspirations. I should still like a well-stocked library and the freedom to say what I think. But I do not believe those must be impossible to come by.”

Mr. Darcy’s mouth quirked into the smallest of smiles.

“No,” he agreed softly. “I do not think they are impossible at all, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth let out a soft exhale that misted faintly in the autumn air. She turned her gaze toward the path ahead, where the leaves rustled in scattered gold and brown, and where she could just see the edge of the shrubbery turn that would conceal them from the house for a moment longer.

He, too, was silent, but not oppressively so. Darcy’s eyes followed the curve of the path, then flicked back to her with steady gravity.

“May I ask—do you often speak so openly of these hopes?” he said at last, his voice low with careful curiosity.

Elizabeth felt the corner of her mouth twitch wryly. “Hardly. Only to Jane, perhaps. She is the one who listens without either worrying or laughing.” She shot him a sideways glance from beneath lowered lashes. “And now you, sir—though you may yet regret such candour.”

“I shall not,” he replied, tone unexpectedly steady. “I have always valued what is genuine.”

She lifted her brows, teasing despite the serious turn. “Even when it is unflattering?”

He actually huffed a quiet laugh. “Especially then.”

They walked on a few more paces in comfortable hush, the wind stirring the last blooms in the borders and carrying the tang of turned earth and distant smoke from a cottage chimney.

Elizabeth drew her shawl closer about her shoulders. “I think most people simply want to be at ease,” she said softly, almost to herself. “But it seems so many forget how to offer that comfort to others.”

He considered that, nodding once. “And you do not?”

She shrugged. “I hope I do not. I try to see where someone is uneasy. Jane says I interfere too much. I prefer to think of it as... spirited encouragement.”

His mouth curved faintly. “Spirited seems a fair word.”

Elizabeth pretended offence, but her eyes danced. “You say that like a warning.”

“Not at all.” His voice gentled, lower. “It is a quality I... admire.”

That made her blink. Elizabeth turned her face slightly away, looking toward the hedge where a late bee bumbled among the ragged marigolds.

Farther behind them, Jane and Bingley were still on the bench, heads tilted toward one another in obvious comfort, Bingley gesturing with enthusiasm while Jane’s hand rested lightly over her skirts in her patient, serene way.

Elizabeth smiled at the sight.

“They are very easy together,” she murmured.

“They suit,” Darcy agreed.

She nodded. “Jane is very dear. She deserves to be understood.”

Darcy’s eyes remained on Elizabeth. “I hope Bingley will do so. He means well in all things.”

“I believe he will,” she said with quiet confidence. “He makes her happy simply by trying.”

Darcy’s expression shifted—subtle, thoughtful, even a little unguarded. He glanced away at the hedge, cleared his throat.

“And you?”

Elizabeth arched a brow. “Me, Mr. Darcy?”

His gaze returned, unflinching now. “Would you want someone to try to make you happy?”

She paused. The wind lifted a lock of her hair from her bonnet ribbons. She studied his face, saw that he was not mocking.

Elizabeth let out a careful breath. “Yes. I think everyone hopes for that. But I would never demand it. It would have to be freely given.”

He inclined his head gravely. “It is the only way it means anything.”

Their eyes met for a long moment. Elizabeth felt her pulse beat at her throat. She could not look away.

Finally, she let a smile break the tension. “Come now, sir, we shall make ourselves melancholy with too much seriousness. Tell me—do you also walk so solemnly at Pemberley?”

A tiny huff of amusement escaped him. “I dare say the hills require more effort than conversation.”

She gave a delighted laugh at that, a sound so light it seemed to lift the chill from the air.

Darcy’s answering smile was small but entirely genuine.

They continued along the path, steps falling into an unspoken rhythm, the world around them hushed except for the gentle rasp of gravel and the whisper of late autumn leaves.

And in that quiet, Elizabeth found—for the first time in many days—she did not mind the silence at all.

Meanwhile, Mr. Bingley turned toward them with his usual easy warmth. “Darcy! Miss Elizabeth! Do come along.” As they came closer, he added with cheerful tact, “I think we ought to return before our absence seems inadequate or impolite.”

Mr. Darcy stepped forward just enough to satisfy Bingley’s summons, but when he spoke it was only to Elizabeth, his voice low and careful.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “I had thought to offer my leave-taking today in the drawing room. But I find I prefer to do so here.”

She looked up, startled by the seriousness in his tone.

“Your leave-taking, sir?”

He nodded once, gravely. “I depart for Pemberley in the morning. Bingley and his sister will travel on to London. But I hope...” He paused, choosing his words with the utmost care. “I hope you will not consider this visit my last.”

Elizabeth’s heart did a small, unexpected skip. She found her fingers tightening on his arm before she could stop herself.

Recovering, she replied lightly, “If you mean to flatter me with further visits, sir, I shall do my best to remain at home to receive them.”

He inclined his head solemnly, though there was the faintest smile in his eyes. “That is all I can ask.”

Elizabeth felt her own lips curve in answer despite her best efforts.